Tales of A Death Knight
by Clara de Morra
Summary: <html><head></head>"Self-discovery" isn't all it's cracked up to be. Covers most of the "Wrath of the Lich King" expansion.</html>
1. Introductions and First Impressions

When she woke up for the first time in what felt like months, all she could see was blackness.

Then she heard voices. She couldn't tell who they were, but there was something…something icy cold about the way they spoke.

"This one…"

She could hear a faint voice in her head, but could not make out what it was saying to her.

Then the whispering…

"…in the Plaguelands…"

Coming from everywhere…

"…come from?"

…where?

"…defending that blemish…"

_Blemish?_

"…imagine their faces…"

_Whose faces?_

"Do you hear the whispers of your master, girl?"

Something… a voice… resembling the icy North washed over her like the Frozen Sea.

"_**Rise, Death Knight. Rise and do your master's bidding.**_"

Her eyes open slowly, almost cautiously, and the first thing she notices is the gentle blue glow reflected slightly on the floor. _What…_

Slowly rising, she then falls to a knee.

"_I hear him…I hear him speaking to me…_"

"You have been judged and found worthy, human. Take up the bearings befitting one such as you and meet your master. He shall be pleased."

She shakily pushed herself up. She dared not question who these people were or where she was…

She then came to a realization: she couldn't remember anything about herself. It seemed to be a miracle that she could even remember her own name.

Then… there was that voice again…

"_**You are useless to me, human, if you cannot even equip yourself for war**__**.**_"

War… she didn't know why, but she had a feeling that she was very good at war. She was soon surrounded by acolytes, all of whom were bearing various pieces of clothing. No, not clothing. Armor.

They then started to equip her. They held up her arms as a few fitted her with a dark chest plate, while two others pulled bracers onto her arms and gauntlets over those. When they were done, they backed away.

Then that giant of a man let out a laugh that would make anyone's blood run cold.

"Don't look so confused, human. I shouldn't have to tell you what you are now."

That's right; he didn't. She felt… unnatural. Perhaps it was that her heart was no longer beating in her chest.

She felt… very cold.

"Go, human. Go and gaze upon the glory that is your master."

She almost mindlessly started walking towards a large set of stairs, only to be met by monstrous…no. These were not monstrous. They were beautiful. She did not know what they were, with their glorious wings that held them aloft, and their perfect, ethereal figures.

Whatever they were, they paid her no attention. And then her eyes stopped on another.

She approached him, and he turned to face her. The air itself froze in his presence. And then he spoke, his icy voice filling her ears and mind.

"_**All that I am: anger, cruelty, vengeance - I bestow upon you, my chosen knight. I have granted you immortality so that you may herald in a new, dark age for the Scourge.**_"

She kneeled before the Lich King, bowing her head.

"_I am ever willing to serve you, my Lord. Tell me what I must do._"

"_**You will destroy the Scarlet Crusade.**_"

His orders were so simple. And he sent her to the nearly broken town below.

Her rune bladed sword felled yet another defenseless civilian, his scream piercing the dead, stale air. It was a thoughtless, almost boring chore, having to demoralize this "Scarlet Crusade" and its followers. There was no fun, no challenge, in slaughtering civilians by the score. There was no fun in even killing the soldiers that fruitlessly tried to protect said civilians from the slaughter.

They were all like lambs, only more eager to face their demise.

She could hear his voice, as clearly as if he were standing next to her, whispering in her ear.

"_**Leave no survivors**_" was what he said. She had to obey.

She _wanted_ to obey.

Another soldier ran for her. If only he knew what was about to happen…

She landed a heavy blow to his stomach with the pommel, causing him to stagger backwards. As soon as he had regained his footing, her sword had already embedded itself in his chest.

"You… monster…" He gasped out as she twisted the blade, before finally falling limp.

She threw his lifeless body to the ground, kicking him with no small amount of force.

"_Indeed_."

She came upon a family in one of the houses. The father clearly loved them, shielding them from her sight. How she would love robbing him, all of them, of their meaningless little lives.

"_You shall be reborn, serving Him for all of time_."

And then there was screaming.

Sobbing.

Whimpering.

And then silence.

These were nothing new. They were like music. The death rattles of men protecting their wives, the screams of women as their husbands lay mangled, the crying of children as their mothers hit the floor, and the dull thud as the children fell from her blade was like a morbid, triumphant symphony, playing for the Lich King.

It was the only thing she truly loved. He would be pleased with her work.


	2. Stupid Lies and Crushed Bones

"_Lady Chrissa, it is good to see you again."_

_She looked to the source of the voice._

_"And you, High Priestess Laurena. It has been too long since I have visited this grand cathedral."_

_"What is it that brings you to us this day?"_

_"I have received news that I shall be heading to Light's Hope Chapel very soon. From Leonid Barthalomew himself!"_

_"I wish you luck in your ventures, Lady Chrissa. The Scourge grows stronger by the day."_

_"I thank you, High Priestess. I shall do my best to purge them from the land."_

_The High Priestess nodded to Chrissa and walked past her. Her gaze then turned to watch her as she approached a small group of terrified-looking acolytes that had just entered the cathedral. They were all looking around, shuffling slowly forward with their robes dragging on the floor, obviously too long for their rather young owners. They couldn't have been older than eleven or twelve._

_Chrissa turned back to face the altar. Approaching the steps, she then kneeled before them, her hands locking themselves in prayer. She prayed that the long journey to Light's Hope Chapel in the Plaguelands would be uneventful, and that if it wasn't, that her companions and she would get there safely._

_She could feel the Light filling her heart, and it was a wonderful, uplifting sensation. Noticing that the acolytes were watching her, she then lifted her tome from its heavy chain and let it fall open in her hands. Flipping through its pages and skimming quickly, she outstretched a gauntleted hand, muttered a single word, and immediately felt an electric tingling sensation shoot through her. Shutting the tome, and placing it back on its chain, she heard the 'ohh's and 'ahh's of the young acolytes and smiled. These were the next ones who would hold the Light, and feel it in their very souls._

_She then called them forward, one by one, and blessed them._

_"You are the future priests and priestesses, and knights of our beautiful city. Light guide you always, brothers and sisters."_

_She then turned on her heel, and left._

Frowning, she placed her hand on her forehead and rubbed the cold flesh carefully. It was surely a trick of the Scarlet Crusade, and their damned "Light" that they seemed to foam at the mouth like rabid animals for.

She snarled. For implanting such lies into her head, they would pay dearly.

Hacking, slashing, chopping, breaking through Scarlet marksmen, priests, defenders. There was no end to them. They ran to her blade as if it would trigger some sort of epiphany to make her change her ways, as if their death would make a difference.

How foolhardy they were.

"_**They beg for death by your blade, champion. Grant it to them.**_"

"_Of course, my Lord. There is no other way._"

There was no thinking, no hesitation, no lamenting over the tasks given to her.

They easily surrounded her, maybe seven or eight of them, while she was lost in her thoughts. Weapons brandished and teeth gritted, they attempted to charge her.

She knelt down, placing a single gauntleted hand upon the earth.

"_Decay like the lesser beings you are, Scarlet fools._"

The ground erupted with unholy energy, seemingly boiling with it as it spread outwards from her hand, and catching the Crusaders in it. They screamed and writhed in agony, the power of the decay too great for their bodies to withstand. Armor melted off of flesh, and flesh melted off of bone until nothing but eroding skeletons remained. She raised herself, untouched by the energy, and only spared a glance at the remains.

"_No matter if you are skeleton or corpses. You shall still be used._"

She crushed one of the skulls underfoot.

"_Even if I break…_"

A spine.

"_…every bone…_"

A femur.

"_…of your body…_"

A tibia.

A small group of ghouls emerge from the broken walls, growling as they approach the remains of the Crusaders.

"_Take the bones to The Harvester. I'm sure he will find a use for them._"

She waved a hand dismissively and they snarl but begin gathering up the bones before lumbering away to deliver them to The Harvester. If he could not find any real use for them, they could always assist in the demoralization of the Scarlet Crusade.

It was something that was always needed to be done.

They and their foolhardy Light needed to be put in their place.


	3. Burning Flesh and Traitor Knights

"_What is the 'Crimson Dawn'?_"

The curl of her fingers and the twist of her wrist brought so much pain.

"You'll… you'll have to kill me, monster! I will tell you nothing!"

"_That can easily be arranged, you know. It's not so difficult… Just tell me what I need to know…_"

"N-never!"

She twisted the sharp, hot metal rod that was embedded in the captured priest's side, the sound and smell of burning flesh filling her ears and nose as he failed to bite back screams. She could almost feel her mouth watering from the scent of it.

"_Is your life truly worth so little to you? Just tell me…_"

Clearly in no hurry, she shoved the sharp metal deeper into the priest's flesh, her soulless eyes watching him intently, unblinking. She closed in on him, her face mere inches from his as her gauntleted hand gently stroked his cheek as if to comfort.

"Cease this… at once."

"_Make me_."

His shaky breathing in the silent room was almost deafeningly loud.

She smiled the sweetest smile she could, but the venom in her voice betrayed her.

"_I can keep this up for a very long time. Tell me what I need to know, and I promise to end your suffering_."

If he gritted his teeth any harder, they would break. Another twist of her wrist and he broke.

"I'll… I'll tell you everything! Stop! Please!"

"_I am all ears, human_."

"We… We have only been told that the 'Crimson Dawn' is… an awakening. You… you see, the Light speaks to the High General. It is the Light…"

"_Fascinating_." Her voice drawled. "_Tell me more_."

"The Light that guides us." He continues hesitantly. "The movement was set in motion before you came… We… We do as we are told. It is what must be done…"

He paused, swallowing thickly, appearing to hold back tears as she smiled terribly. 

"I know very little else… The High General chooses who may go and who must stay behind. There's nothing else… You must believe me!"

"Lies!" She snarled, twisting the sharp rod harshly. "The pain you are about to endure will be talked about for years to come!" 

"No! Please! There is one more thing that I forgot to mention… A courier comes soon… From Hearthglen. It…"

A courier from Hearthglen. That was all she needed to know.

She tore the sharp, hot metal rod out of the priest, and stabbed him through his ribs. Another harsh twist and the priest fell limp on the rotting slab of wood, eyes rolled back within his skull.

Prince Keleseth stepped out from the shadows.

"**An awakening? Nonsense! What kind of fool would deliver their people into the very heart of the frozen wastes? Perhaps, though, this courier holds the answer.**

"**You have work to do, Death Knight**."

Her eyes narrowed at the immense Darkfallen.

"_No need to tell me, Prince Keleseth_."

"**No need**?"

"_Indeed_."

He refrained from speaking as she left, probably to find and brutally murder this courier, knowing that an irritated Death Knight would only slow things down for all of them. He had throttled more initiates than he could possibly count, and thus, they were running a bit low on soldiers at the moment.

As much as he did not want to admit it, she was good, possibly one of their best. She was unquestioning in her loyalty, as he knew she was in life as a Paladin.

Former Paladins seemed to make the best Death Knights.


	4. Forgotten Friends and Cold Killing

It didn't take long for Havenshire and the walled settlement of New Avalon to fall. The dead littered the once "sanctified" ground, and the fires burned what remained of the buildings. The ghouls tore through the flesh of the mangled and broken corpses; man, woman, child, and animal. None were spared from the massacre. Their bones were further desecrated, either raised to bolster the Scourge's numbers, or simply crushed underfoot by Knights and ghouls.

The Scarlet Crusade, now Scarlet Onslaught, were powerless to stop the destruction of the tiny settlement they so wanted to protect. Their now scattered remnants could never stand a chance against the force and sheer numbers that they were faced with.

An unholy shriek pierced the heavy air, followed by the clopping of hooves against the dry earth. She was to report to the Chapel of the Crimson Flame, and with any luck, raze it to the ground.

Slowing her stallion to a walk, she came upon quite a sight: a group of several Death Knights, cheering and laughing, hurling torches at the chapel. A section of the roof caved at that moment, and the Crusaders still trapped inside screamed and sobbed in terror, with only two options in front of them. They could either outlast the flames that consumed the chapel, or outlast the Death Knights on their doorstep. The chances of any of them getting out and escaping from either alive were zero.

Her grip tightened on the reins as she approached what remained of the chapel. The one she assumed to be Knight Commander Plaguefist turned in her direction as she dismounted.

"Took you long enough. We started without you."

She said nothing as she crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowed and teeth gritted, her lips curled into a disgusted frown.

"We got here, tore the place apart, and headed toward the prison house." He began. "We weren't expecting what we found in there, Chrissa. Seems the Crusade's been real busy. That whole thing is full of Argent Dawn prisoners. Most of them were already dead by the time we arrived, but a few were still breathing."

He jerked his head in the direction of the prison.

"I was about to go in there and execute the rest of them, but I think you should have the honors. In particular, there's a real feisty human in there that I think you'll take great pleasure in executing."

"_This better be worth it_."

She turned towards the prison, and, cracking her knuckles loudly, made her way to it. She took the small set of stairs in one step; those who remained of the Argent prisoners kneeled to the floor, heads hung in defeat, some sobbing.

Her eyes settled on the lone human, a woman, in the corner. Her eyes were downcast, and her blonde hair hung in her face.

"Come to finish the job, have you?" She stated, her voice drenched in hatred. "I'd like to stand for…"

Her breath nearly caught in her throat upon seeing who stood before her.

"Chrissa?"

The woman could feel the tears welling in her eyes at the sight.

"Chrissa_**,**_ I'd recognize that face anywhere… What… What have they done to you, Chrissa?"

The tears were close to falling. 

"You don't remember me, do you? Blasted Scourge… They've tried to drain you of everything that made you a righteous force of reckoning. Every last ounce of good… Everything that made you a human!"

This woman was speaking nonsense.

"Think, Chrissa. Think back. Try and remember the hills and valleys of Elwynn, where you were born. Remember the splendor of life, sister. You were a champion of the Alliance once! This isn't you."

Her jaw tightened and she clenched her hands into and out of fists while the woman spoke. She wanted to wring this Argent woman's neck with her bare hands for what she was saying.

"Listen to me, Chrissa. You must fight against the Lich King's control. He is a monster that wants to see this world – our world – in ruin. Don't let him use you to accomplish his goals. You were once a hero and you can be again."

The woman grabbed Chrissa's shoulders as hard as she could, and shook her furiously.

"Fight, damn you! Fight his control!" 

"What's going in there? What's taking so long, Chrissa?" 

Knight Commander Plaguefist.

"There… There's no more time for me. I'm done for. Finish me off—"

She was cut off as a thick blade was swung down, and hard, cutting through her shoulder to her chest. A wretched gargle came from her mouth, blood then spilling out in streams as it almost erupted from the wound. She yanked the weapon free from the corpse, only staring as the dead woman slumped to the floor in a mess of blood, broken bones, and spilt tears.

Grabbing the end of her cloak, she cleaned her hands of the blood that stained them, and turned on her heel, returning to the Knight Commander.

He smiled that knowing smile of his.

"Felt good, didn't it? You're not one of them anymore, Chrissa."

She glanced down at her hand, her face holding no expression.

"You're Scourge. You're one of us."

Her hand tightened into a fist.

"Forever."


	5. Breaking Points and Turncoat Kings, pt 1

"_**You have slaughtered legions beyond number, and still your dark heart craves more. Your hunger knows no end, Chrissa.**_"

The Lich King paused.

"_**There must come an end to all things, Death Knight. The Scarlet armies make their final stand against us. For them, there is no escape… no choice. And for this reason, they will fight with a ferocity that you have yet to witness.**_"

He held his hand forward. Resting on the palm was a frost-coated battle horn.

"_**Use this horn to call forth one of my Wyrms. Climb upon its back and command it into battle. With it, you will end the Scarlet Crusade.**_"

"_It shall be done, my Lord_."

Taking the horn, she backed away before bringing it to her mouth and blowing through it with no small amount of power. It boomed with a spine-tingling energy before a great Frost Wyrm sunk its colossal talons into the dried, dead earth not a whisper's distance away. Its roar was ferocious, sending an almost crippling shudder through the Knight.

Her eyes wide and her grin broad, she mounted its back, and it roared again before taking flight.

Its wings beat against the refreshing, stale air as it soared towards its destination, the ghouls and abominations below ripping through Crusaders as though they were wet parchment. However, the Crusaders and their "Holy Light" were tearing through the lesser undead just as easy.

With Chrissa mounted upon a Frost Wyrm, she could and would easily change that.

It took a deep breath, and released a surge of magical frost in the direction of the Crusaders. Several fled, only to be caught in it moments later, their bodies contorted unnaturally by the frost. If one looked close enough, they would see their faces: frozen in twisted terror for as long as they remained intact.

This surely would not be for long, as the Scourge soldiers were tearing and tearing their way through the Scarlet ranks.

It was like crushing ants; there was no end to them.

"_Nearly no end._" She thought aloud as she clenched the reins, observing the destruction she had wrought before turning the Frost Wyrm to return to the Lich King.

"_**Kneel, champion.**_"

She did so, her head bowed to him. A helm was lowered onto her head.

"_**I place this helm upon your head to complete your terrifying visage. Any that dare look upon your dark countenance will know that death comes. Let none stand so boldly against your king so as to face your merciless wrath, Chrissa.**_"

She raised her head, her gaze set upon him.

"_**There remains only one final task.**_"

He stopped himself.

"_What is it, my Lord? I exist only to serve you_."

"_**Light's Hope Chapel.**_"

She bowed her head again, waiting for instruction.

"_**The Scarlet Enclave is no more. What remains of the Crusade will be dealt with in Northrend.**_

_****_"_**We now turn all of our efforts to Light's Hope Chapel. No longer will this affront to your master be allowed to exist!**_"

"_What would you have me do?_"_****_

"_**I have issued my final command. Scourge Commander Thalanor awaits your arrival at the edge of Browman Mill. Go northwest through the cave, into the Noxious Glade and take the path leading out of the glade to the mill.  
><strong>__**  
><strong>_"_**Do not fail me, Chrissa.**_"

She bowed her head low before standing and backing away a few steps, and then turning, summoning her hell-steed. It gave a screech as she mounted before it reared onto its hind legs, and galloped into the tunnel to the Noxious Glade. It rushed past necromancers and ghouls and abominations, the former continuously raising the latter two, while said latter two headed in the direction of Browman Mill to join the group massing around the Chapel.

Scourge Commander Thalanor waited, mounted upon his risen gryphon, just behind a group of men who were all intimidating in their own right: Orbaz Bloodbane, Thassarian, Koltira Deathweaver, another Death Knight whom she did not recognize, and none other than the Highlord: Darion Mograine.

Chrissa's own steed snorted, chomping at his bit as he shifted, stamping his hooves.

"The Highlord and the other Death Knights are preparing to strike! We will squeeze the last remnants of life out of this place!

"The Argent Dawn stands defiantly against us at Light's Hope Chapel. They dare oppose the Scourge, and for that reason alone they must be destroyed! The mighty armies of the Lich King stand at the ready as the final battle for the Plaguelands approaches. Today we ascend into the immortal realm of Scourge heroes!

"When you are ready for battle, report to Highlord Darion Mograine. It is the Highlord who will issue the final march orders and command our armies at Light's Hope Chapel."

She nodded once, firmly, before taking steering her stallion to mere feet from the Highlord. He cast a sidelong glance at her, and she nodded again.

"_**Soldiers of the Scourge, stand ready! You will soon be able to unleash your fury upon the Argent Dawn!**_"

Victorious growls, shouts, and roars resounded throughout the area.

But it did not end there.

"_**The sky weeps at the devastation of sister earth! Soon, tears of blood will rain down upon us!**_"

The victorious noises continued.

"_**Soldiers of the Scourge, Death Knights of Acherus, minions of the darkness! Hear the call of the Highlord!**_

"_**Rise!**_"

The ground trembled, thousands upon thousands of more Scourge rising to the call.

"_**The skies turn red with the blood of the fallen! The Lich King watches over us, minions! Onward! Leave only ashes and misery in your destructive wake!**_"

"Stand fast, brothers and sisters! The Light will prevail!" An unfamiliar voice pierced through the air.

"_**Spare no one!**_" The Highlord countered.

Chrissa drew the rune-bladed sword from her back, and charged into the battle. She launched herself from her stallion, its shriek falling on deaf ears as she collided with a handful of Argent Crusaders. Her blade cut through armor and flesh and bone as if they were made of parchment, their gurgled, strangled cries silenced as they hit the blood-spattered ground, one with a boot to his throat.

"_**Rise, minions! Destroy them!**_"

The Highlord's voice scratched at the ears of all as more cannon fodder clawed its way up from the earth. Several were cut down before they had completely risen, but the overwhelming numbers were far too much for them to keep up with.

Argent Crusaders were falling left and right. She yanked her blade from a corpse before bringing it around like a club to smash into the torso of another. Her muscles began to strain, surprising her more than it should have, as she wrenched at the blade again.

She flung herself at another group, but it was short-lived.

"You cannot win, Darion!"

The voice made her already dead heart stop, and sent a violent shiver up her spine. And even throughout all the chaos, she could make out the sound of dead leaves and grass crunching underfoot in a hurried escape.

Someone was running away.

_Orbaz Bloodbane_ was running away.

"_That coward…_" She gritted her teeth, wishing she had some sort of weapon to hurl at him as her gaze followed him until he was out of sight.

"Bring them before the chapel!"

Her weapon was forcibly taken as she was wrested to the ground. She hissed curses upon them and their families as they tightened their grip, dragging her and her brethren before their mighty enemies. They released their grasps as they shoved her to the Highlord's side.

"_**Stand down, Death Knights. We have lost. The Light… this place. No hope…**_"

The mightiest of them strode forward, his gaze menacing.

"Have you learned nothing, boy? You have become all that your father fought against! Like that coward Arthas, you allowed yourself to be consumed by the darkness and the hate. Feeding upon the misery of those you tortured and killed!

"Your master knows what lies beneath the chapel; it is why he dares not show his face! He's sent you and your death knights to meet their doom! The Light will tear you apart, Darion!"

"_**Save your breath, old man. It might be the last you ever draw.**_" 

"My son! My dear, beautiful boy!"

A voice stopped everyone cold, and sent Chrissa nearly out of her skin as she turned to face what was there.

"_**Father! Argh… what… is…**_" 

Highlord Darion Mograine almost doubled over. From him, a shade of his past, what he once was and could never be again, materialized and ran to his father. 

"Father, you have returned!" 

He greeted his father with a tight hug. 

"You have been gone a long time, father. I thought…"

The older man shook his head. 

"Nothing could have kept me away from here, Darion. Not from my home and family." 

"Father, I wish to join you in the war against the undead. I want to fight! I can sit idle no longer!" 

"Darion Mograine." His father stated sternly. "You are barely of age to hold a sword, let alone battle the undead hordes of Lordaeron! I couldn't bear losing you. Even the thought…"

"If I die, father, I would rather it be on my feet, standing in defiance against the undead legions! If I die, father, let me die with you!"

The older man frowned, but his face softened after but a moment. 

"My son, there will come a day when you will command the Ashbringer and, with it, mete justice across this land. I have no doubt that when that day finally comes, you will bring pride to our people and that Lordaeron will be a better place because of you. But, my son, that day is not today. 

"Do _not_ forget…" 

"_**Touching…**_"

The shade of Darion's father was tugged at by some force before fading completely. 

"_**He is mine now.**_"

"_**You… betrayed me! You betrayed us all, monster! Face the might of Mograine!**_"

Darion charged, but it was all for naught as he was easily knocked aside. 

"_**Pathetic…**_" 

"You're a damned monster, Arthas!" The paladin spat. 

"_**You**__**were right, Fordring. I did send them in to die. Their lives are meaningless, but yours…**_"

Something akin to an electrical shock struck Chrissa like waves upon a smooth coastline, and she gasped for air. The thought that this monster, her _master_, believed her life to be meaningless filled her with such anger, such hate, that she could no longer take it.

She didn't speak; she only shrieked as she charged him, fury marring her features and her grip upon the blood-soaked blade tightening.

She was thrown aside as easily as the Highlord, and hit the dry dirt with no small amount of force, and her body rolling several feet.

He paused, the amusement in his voice as clear as a morning sky. 

"_**How simple it was to draw the great Tirion Fordring out of hiding. You've left yourself exposed, paladin. Nothing will save you.**_" 

The Lich King recited an incantation on Tirion, forcing him to fall to a knee, gasping for air. 

"Attack!" Another paladin commanded.

"_**Apocalypse!**_"

His voice shook the earth, sending all who charged him flying back with terrible injuries. 

"_**That day is not today… Tirion!**_" 

The Highlord then threw his blade to Tirion, who easily caught it. He suddenly was filled with Light, and the sword was cleansed as the Highlord collapsed in a heap. As Chrissa picked herself up with some difficulty, she had to shield her eyes from the Light that shone from the paladin. 

"ARTHAS!" Tirion roared. 

"_**What is this?**_" 

"Your end." He stated darkly, too darkly for one such as he. 

He launched himself from the ground, and the blade came in contact with the Lich King's armor, burning through it as if it were cloth. The Lich King staggered backwards. 

"_**Impossible…**_"

He clutched at the wound the sword had left, exposed by the burn through the armor. 

"_**This… isn't… over…!**_"

He pointed Frostmourne threateningly at the man as her snarled. 

"_**When next we meet, it won't be on holy ground, paladin!**_" 

He tightened his grip upon the sword as he spat that last word, his left hand calling forth a portal of swirling, unholy magic that pulled him through and out of sight.

Tirion gazed momentarily at the spot where the Lich King had been, before turning and facing the Highlord.

"Rise, Darion, and listen…"

He waited until the Highlord was on his feet again before continuing.

"We have all been witness to a terrible tragedy. The blood of good men has been shed upon this soil! Honorable knights, slain defending their lives - our lives! And while such things can never be forgotten, we must remain vigilant in our cause! The Lich King must answer for what he has done and must not be allowed to cause further destruction to our world. I make a promise to you now, brothers and sisters: the Lich King will be defeated! On this day, I call for a union!

"The Argent Dawn and the Order of the Silver Hand will come together as one! We will succeed where so many before us have failed! We will take the fight to Arthas and tear down the walls of Icecrown!"

He raised his head, his voice piercing through the air.

"The Argent Crusade comes for you, Arthas!"

Darion finally spoke up. 

"_**So too do the Knights of the Ebon Blade… While our kind has no place in your world, we will fight to bring an end to the Lich King. This I vow!**_"


	6. Breaking Points and Turncoat Kings, pt 2

For the first time in what felt like years, her mind was her own.

"_**There will be no atonement for us, Chrissa. We are forever damned to walk the earth as monsters. While the Lich King may have loosed his grip upon us, the specters of our past will forever haunt our memories. We must make amends in the only way we know how: death…**_

"_**I ask you now to join me in Acherus as a Knight of the Ebon Blade. Together we will destroy the Lich King and end the Scourge.**_"

It took almost no thought. She knew her answer, and knew it was hers alone.

"_I shall join with you, Highlord._"

He nodded sternly before turning to his left, magic writhing around his gauntleted hand as he brought forth a gated portal of churning energy.

"_**First things are first. We must reclaim the Ebon Hold. Arthas left many servants behind in his haste to escape.**_

"_**Meet me on the other side.**_"

The energy enveloped her as she strode through the portal, the world twisting itself around her and reforming as the interior to Acherus. She stared into the writhing energies, and not long after herself, the Highlord stepped through behind her. She looked to him for instruction.

"_**There are other Knights still in the Hold. Assist them, and slay all servants of Arthas that cross your path.**_"

She nodded once, but as she turned to do so, he stopped her. She turned back, somewhat confused.

"_**Take this with you.**_"

In his grasp was a massive sword, longer than she was tall, the blade nearly a foot across, and engraved with magnificent runes. She took it in almost startled silence; the Highlord was giving her _this_?

"_**You shall not use a blade of the Scourge any longer.**_" He stated. "_**Use a blade of the Highlord to rain death upon the Lich King**__**'s**__** accursed servants.**_"

She nodded dumbly, still amazed by such a gift, and, feeling ready to burst with the power that he was radiating, she turned towards the shimmering violet portal and vaulted over the ledge and into it. She was transported to the lower level of the Hold, immediately drawing the attacks of the remaining Scourge servants.

Their hooks caught on her armor, and as she was yanked towards them, she drew the gifted blade up to block their cleavers. They clanged horribly against each other, and she pushed forwards, knocking their balance off and slicing a gaping wound in the belly of one. Intestines spilled forth from the wound, only serving to daze it momentarily. She leapt up, burying the blade into its skull, and as its garbled yells grabbed the attention of one of the beautiful winged creatures above, she yanked the blade out and launched herself from the abomination, swinging the blade at the ethereal being.

It shrieked as it fell face-first to the stone floor, a severed wing falling limply beside it in a spurt of black blood. Chrissa again launched herself at the creature, its outstretched hand doing nothing to slow the bloodied Knight as she raised her blade once more, this time above its lovely, bared throat.

A clang of metal against stone, and its head rolled away with a thin trail of blood following after it, the creature's body thudding to the floor and writhed no more. Another hook had found a crevice in her armor, pulling her towards another bloated mass of flesh. She was able to catch it before it caught her, her blade lodging itself neatly in its neck. It howled pathetically, fumbling its hook as it released its grip upon her, and as she ripped her blade from its swollen throat, its head fell off to one side, held on by only a thin strand of sinew. It tipped over, its weight crushing a nearby necromancer into a bloody, broken mess beneath it.

A massive group of Knights charged in from behind her, their weapons raised and their blood-thirsty howls echoing hauntingly throughout the Hold. They sliced through bloated and gaunt flesh alike, sparing no servants in their rampage.

Chaos consumed nearly everything. Her eyes could not travel fast enough to see what was happening, so instead, she charged into the fray.

It seemed to have taken no time at all; corpses of the undead, the necromancers, and more than a few Knights littered the floor, the spilled blood seeping between the cracks in the stone. She and a number of others stood silently, mourning the loss of their brothers-in-arms to only themselves.

She was the first to speak.

"_It is ours_."

The Knights yelled in victory as the Highlord approached the group, gesturing to Chrissa.

"_**You are now, and forever will be, a Knight of the Ebon Blade, but know this: you were once a hero of the Alliance.**_"

She blinked in disbelief. Her? A hero? And to the Alliance, no less.

He stared at her intensely, as if he were waiting for a certain reaction.

"_**This order must establish allies for itself if it is to survive. You must represent the Knights of the Ebon Blade to the Alliance.**_" He continued. "_**On the platform, southeast of me, is a portal to Stormwind City. Take this letter, given to me on your behalf by **__**Lord Fordring**__**, and deliver it to King Varian Wrynn.**_"

He pressed the letter into her hand, and all she could do was stare. He pointed towards the platform.

"_**Use the portal.**_"

She shook herself out of her stupor, and nodded, turning on her heel and jogging towards the portal. Stopping in front of it, she could see, through the mass of swirling magic, a beautiful, sunlit stone city with a grand gate leading to a magnificent bridge.

She knew this city.

But she could not place how or why.

Even so, she stepped through, and as she appeared on the other side, she was met with shrieks and terrified yells for help.

"My family was killed by the Scourge! Monster!"

A rotten apple ricocheted off her cheek, but she barely even flinched.

Instinct told her where to go as she walked into the city, intent on finding King Wrynn as soon as she could while not be tempted to murder all of the townsfolk where they stood. She hastened her pace, ignoring the calls for rope and the throwing of rotten fruit in her general direction.

She climbed the stairs to Stormwind Keep, and nearly ran through the corridor to the King. His hard stare bore through her, his grip upon his blade tightening and ready to strike.

"You have mere moments to live." He gritted out.

She thrust the letter into his free hand, and did not speak. He ripped the seal from it, and hastily read it over. His gaze nearly met her, but stared past her shoulder.

"Indeed, old friend. Blood and honor..."

His eyes rested on the Knight before him.

"Were it not for this letter from Tirion, you would be a stain upon my floor. Only an endorsement from one of the greatest paladins to ever live could have ensured your survival."

He seemed to hesitate in what he was about to say.

"We... We will work together against the Scourge. Against the Lich King."

He held his hand out in an offering of peace, and she took it gladly. And suddenly, his voice boomed throughout the city.

"People of Stormwind! Citizens of the Alliance! Your king speaks!"

If the guards within the throne room hadn't had their attention turned to the odd chain of events happening mere feet from them, surely they did now.

"Today marks the first of many defeats for the Scourge! Death Knights, once in service of the Lich King, have broken free of his grasp and formed a new alliance against his tyranny!"

The attention that he received was completely undivided.

"You will welcome these former heroes of the Alliance and treat them with the respect that you would give any ally of Stormwind!

"Glory to the Alliance!"

"_Glory to the Alliance!_" She echoed loudly as she firmly shook his hand.


	7. Awkward Apologies and Trembling Hands

A number of weeks later, she found herself walking across the Eastern Plaguelands and towards Light's Hope Chapel. She sighed heavily; they would not accept it. She knew that they would not accept her apology for what happened that day, but she had to try. She wasn't seeking to be redeemed, she just wanted… closure.

This felt so wrong. But she knew it had to be done. It was just something she had to do.

She wasn't even sure what she was going to say to them.

"_Good day to you. I am Chrissa Renn, a Death Knight. I used to defend you... I think. Until I died and was brought back by the Lich King to attack all of you. I am truly sorry about that._"

It sounded even more asinine when she said it out loud.

She scratched her head awkwardly, trying to find the right words to say before she got there. She looked up; Light's Hope was a mere fifty feet away. If she wanted to apologize, she had to think of something fast.

Whispers and murmurs hovered in the air, buzzing like a swarm of angry silithids roused from slumber, as she approached the chapel itself. Unfamiliar faces peered at her, features tensing, almost expecting an attack from her as she stepped into the chapel.

She stopped where she was, and clenched her fists tightly, her lower lip trembling slightly. She dropped to her knees, her hands in front of her, and she bowed her head until it touched the creaking wooden floorboards.

"_I'm sorry! I'm sorry for everything! Please forgive me!_"

She had been lying to herself. She didn't want closure; she wanted forgiveness.

She choked out sobs as the silence continued to buzz uncomfortably in her ears. She raised her head slightly to see a pair of heavily armored boots.

She immediately regretted looking up further.

Crusade Commander Korfax lifted his axe easily above his head, fury marring his face.

"You dare beg forgiveness? Scourge scum!"

"Commander Korfax! You will cease this nonsense at once!"

His head jerked back to the source of the words.

"Leonid Barthalomew. Explain yourself."

"You remember several months ago, several Paladins were sent from Stormwind City as reinforcements. Among them were such heroes as Malthador Dragonsbane, the Benevolent; Dranza, the Cerulean; Niyabi Sunweaver, the Pure... and Chrissa Renn, the Devout.

"I'm sure you remember Chrissa. She was one that I personally sent for her. She was lively and caring, and worried about others as much as mothers over their young children. If someone was injured, whether it was a scratch from a cat, or a gash from a ghoul, she would heal it. She joked she would wrinkle early from all the worry she put herself through.

"Not a few months ago, we lost her. She was killed in battle at the hands of one of the Lich King's lieutenants. When the dust finally settled, the field was littered with the bodies of both sides, but where she had fallen was only stained with a spatter of blood. Her body could not be found amongst the dead, no matter how long or how many times it was searched. I feared the ghouls may have devoured her, or she had been taken to the Noxious Glade. No, instead she was taken where we could not find her: Acherus, the Ebon Hold."

"And how do you know all of this?"

"Because Malthador had fallen in a battle not long after, at the hands of Darion Mograine himself, and he was with Chrissa when they were sent to kill us all. He was the one that told me of this after the Battle for Light's Hope Chapel."

"Malthador? That madman? You cannot trust a word he says! He spreads grand rumors of himself!"

"Korfax, you will silence yourself." Leonid frowned, scolding the Crusade Commander as one would a child. "You speak ill of a good, true man. He did not need to come back after that battle, but he did, and he explained what had happened. He could not be so easily lost to the Lich King's control, even as a Death Knight under his command."

He turned his gaze to the Death Knight on the floor.

"Falling in battle was not your fault. Neither was becoming a minion of the Lich King. It was not as if you had any choice.

"Do you remember any of what I just spoke of, Chrissa?"

She paused.

"…_no._"

"But you are different from the battle, yes?"

She nodded firmly.

"Yes. I can tell that you are." He spoke kindly, almost sympathetically as he helped her to her feet. "Sister, you have no need to plead for forgiveness. I do not lay any blame on you for what the Lich King has wrought."

Commander Korfax said nothing, only clenching his jaw, his arms crossed; she did not wish to even look at him for fear of unintentionally provoking his barely-restrained anger.

"Come with me, sister. I have something that might interest you."

Leonid led her to the graveyard behind the chapel. In the northern corner rested a small grave marker neatly decorated with peaceblooms, a small wooden chest sitting nearby. The delicate inscription shimmered faintly with Holy Light: "Here rests Chrissa Renn in memory."

It was surreal, she thought, staring down at her own grave marker. It was almost exactly what she had envisioned, had she been given the chance to choose her own stone.

Leonid knelt down, his hands grasping at the wood chest and lifting it from the ground. Turning towards Chrissa, he offered it to her.

"Within this chest are letters from your family. I know not if they are still in Elwynn Forest, nor if they know of your... predicament. You may read them, if you wish, or leave them be. Likewise, you may search for your family, or allow them to continue to believe that you are dead. It is ultimately your decision to make."

Her hands shook faintly at her options. If she searched for them, showing that she was indeed "alive", it would lift the worries of their safety from her shoulders. However, she vaguely remembered how they felt about the Scourge: their minds and wills not their own, only slaves begging and pleading for release from the nightmare that held them in unwilling, and monsters through and through if they were. And if she appeared as one of them...

She opened the chest, a trembling hand reaching in, fingertips brushing against the aged parchment that contained the irreplaceable gift of memories of her past. However...

She closed the lid.

"_I am better living as I can in the present, not in the past. I may appear the same in body and mind, but I do not feel like I am the same person that came here so many months ago. If I return to my family in Elwynn Forest, it would not be a reunion, but a first meeting. Chrissa Renn the Devout is dead, but Chrissa Renn, Knight of the Ebon Blade, is here in her place._"

Leonid paused momentarily as she knelt down to replace the chest.

"I understand your decision, Ebon Knight. May the Light keep you safe on your travels."

She nodded and bowed politely, and turned upon her heel, not looking back as she left the chapel behind her.


	8. Reunited Friends and Fond Memories

She stared at the massive stone gateway barely a step from her, the swirling magical energies of the portal causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end. She was not nervous; far from it.

At least, that was what she continued to tell herself.

She inhaled deeply, her eyes sliding shut, and took a single step forward. The magic sent a tingling sensation across her skin, and when she opened her eyes again, what met her was not what she expected: a broken world, blighted by demons intent on reaching the other side of the portal to invade the world on the other side. The advancing legions of demons were led by what she could only assume to be a Pit Lord; his massive wings unfurled behind him, all four of his stubby, thick-as-trees legs stomped at the blood-red ground beneath him as Infernal after Infernal rained from the sky.

The Alliance commander waved her over, pressed a message into her hands, and spoke so quickly that she barely had time to understand him before he shoved her in the direction of the gryphon master who, in turn, shoved her as well, but onto a gryphon which immediately took to the darkened sky and swiftly made its way to a very nearly ruined keep.

She spotted the recipient of the message easily as the gryphon touched down; his red, gold, and white robes were caked with red dust at the hem, a trench nearly carved into the ground where he must have been pacing for something closer to days than hours. His facial features haggard from a clear lack of rest and an overabundance of stress, she nearly walked straight past him to spare him whatever the message said, but she thought better of it.

When she stood before him and he turned towards her, she hesitated, but handed him the message. He tore the seal, reading hurriedly, and grumbled before crumpling it up with something that sounded suspiciously like, "nothing I don't already know".

Part of her thought that she would be helping to fight the Legion on this side of the Dark Portal.

Apparently, though, they required her formidable and deadly skills as an errand girl instead of her facility with murder, so they had decided to send her to a small outpost near the border between the peninsula and a large marsh.

Her horse galloped for what felt like hours down the vast beaten road before her eyes caught sight of a small outpost with a handful of Night Elves and Tauren. She steered her stallion towards the small gathering, and as she approached them, one of the Tauren turned, and then another, which caught the attention of the Night Elves. They welcomed her over with smiles and waving.

"You bring news from Honor Hold?" One of the Night Elven women queried.

"_I do._" She nodded once, reaching into a saddlebag and pulling out a creased letter.

"I am very sorry, but can you please deliver our message to the Cenarion Refuge?"

"_How far is it?_"

"Not too far." She turned, pointing past the outpost and to the border of the marsh. "Nearly a half hour's ride from here to the border, and another quarter to the refuge itself. We can't afford to send any of our own ahead, and for that, I am sorry."

She nodded, her expression neutral as she tucked the new message into her saddlebag.

"_I understand. I shall take your message to...?_"

"Ysiel Windsinger. She leads the Cenarion Expedition."

She nodded once more, and steered her stallion back to the road, slowing its pace to a relaxed walk. The silence was ringing in her ears, only broken by the occasional and short-lived breeze of too-warm air, and the muffled sound of hooves on dust-coated rock.

She was still a short ways from the border itself, but she could see the thorny brambles from her current place on the road. A massive alien creature scuttled from the road and into the brambles, few features of it distinguishable, save for the sharp spines protruding from its back.

She, strange as it seemed, was not in the mood for an ambush, so she nudged her stallion's sides, and it walked a bit faster before breaking into a trot, then a canter, and finally to a full gallop. She knew that her stallion would rather not run into any of the alien creatures they saw from a distance; she wouldn't want to, either. Her job was to deliver yet another message, not blindly slaughter the wildlife, no matter how fearsome or aggressive they were.

So she continued onwards.

But she realized that she started to miss the blasted landscape of the peninsula the moment her steed had slowly descended down the hilly path, and her eyes were forced to adjust to the vast dimness of what little light could be found.

She soon reached the Cenarion Refuge, lit with the dim glow of distinctly Night Elven lanterns. Tiny moths circled the lights, and when she reached the inn, she slid from the saddle and reached into her saddlebag, retrieving a rope and fastening one end to the horse's bridle, the other to an old wooden railing, and she stepped lightly up the stairs and into the inn.

It was quite empty, save for who she assumed to be the innkeeper, and perhaps a merchant or two. She approached the innkeeper, and dropped bag full of silver into his hands.

"_A bed for the night, if you would be so kind._"

He motioned in the direction of the cots set up on the other side of the one-roomed inn, and she nodded in appreciation as she removed her boots and helmet before laying down, immediately drifting into a dreamless sleep.

She woke not three hours later, the aches in her bones and muscles and the pounding in her head now only small annoyances compared to before. She rose, stretching out her arms and legs, and pulling her boots on, placing her helmet back on her head, and peering outside.

Rain.

At least her stallion had sufficient shelter beneath the overhanging roof, also conveniently saving the leather saddlebags and their contents from a watery demise.

She leapt down the stairs and to her horse, reaching into the saddlebag and drawing out the creased letter from the Cenarion Outpost, and heading back inside. She quickly found the recipient, Ysiel Windsinger, and nearly screamed in frustration when told that she had to deliver yet another message.

"_I'll leave immediately_." She responded, cutting herself off there in fear of saying something terrifically catastrophic.

"Thank you. Truly."

The druidess must have had the patience of a saint as when she thanked her, her gentle smile was kind and warm. Chrissa released a long, drawn out sigh.

"_My apologies, Lady Windsinger. I have been doing nothing but deliver messages for the past day and a half, and it is grating what few nerves I have left. I apologize for taking it out on you; it is not your fault._"

The leader of the Cenarion Expedition nodded in understanding.

"For a woman of action, you are still doing better than most."

The knight nodded once, still somewhat guilt-ridden, but chose to not voice it. She excused herself, untied her stallion from his place on the railing, and started down the road to her next destination.

Her stallion trudged slowly through mud and water, the rain much heavier than an hour ago with still no refuge in sight. The rainwater splashed against her helmet, echoing loudly in her ears as she pressed onwards; her steed threw his head back and forth, clearly annoyed by his rider's determination to find a proper inn instead of something closer.

Eventually, she sighed in defeat. She must have been at least a day's ride to any proper inn, so she pulled off the rough path to find shelter beneath one of the mammoth mushrooms that lay broken on the waterlogged grass.

Dismounting, the grass squishing beneath the soles of her plated boots, she led her steed beneath the temporary shelter and removed her helmet. She wrinkled her nose as she sat down and drew her knees to her chest, the stink of bog waters and rotting flesh filling her nose and covering even the stench of death that perpetually surrounded her. She honestly couldn't remember why she had come here in the first place, or why she would want to come here. The weather was so horrid all the time; it was too wet, too muddy, too dark.

The sound of hooves against the rain-slicked, rough stone path snapped her out of her daze. A horse, presumably the owner of those hooves, came into view. Its head drooped as it plodded along, its hooves beginning to drag against the stone and its pace slowing substantially. The rider was as drooped as their horse, slouching in the saddle, their head bowed.

"_Hello?_"

The rider nearly leapt from their saddle.

"_If you are searching for an inn, I am sorry, but there are none for at least a day's ride_."

"Oh."

The rider hung his head slightly.

"_You are welcome to join me in my cozy shelter, should you wish to_."

He nodded once and dismounted from his steed, leading the horse to beneath the makeshift shelter, and tried to find the least rain-soaked patch of grass to sit upon.

The silence laid awkwardly for a number of minutes, before Chrissa cleared her throat.

"_I detest the weather here_."

The human glanced sideways at her, eyebrow raised.

"...of all the things to talk about, the weather is the first that comes to mind?"

"_Is that not what strangers talk about when the silence weighs heavily?_"

He blinked before shaking with laughter.

"You're not used to—"

He stopped, staring at her face.

"...could you please turn this way?"

She blinked but did so, and the man pulled back his hood, a broad smile on his face and his eyes wide with joy.

"It is you! Chrissa! Chrissa Renn, right? It's me! Darrick Runesmith!"

She raised an eyebrow subtly; she vaguely recalled a Darrick from her childhood, but she thought his family name had been different.

His face fell slightly.

"You... don't remember me, do you?"

She shook her head slowly.

"_I do, but only vaguely._"

"We used to play hide and seek in Stormwind. We always hid in the same places, so we always found each other. I... after you went to the Cathedral, I thought I'd never see you again."

And suddenly, she could almost feel herself being catapulted into an all too distant memory of her childhood; running through the streets of Stormwind, the canals too close for comfort, their tiny shoes scuffing against the cobblestone beneath them. She could see him trying to catch up to her as she glanced over her shoulder, yelling for her to slow down.

"And when I heard you'd been killed... I never thought..."

His words snapped her out of her daze, and she was back in the present, where she was a former agent of the Scourge, sitting beneath an oversized mushroom in a swamp with a childhood friend that she now had no trouble remembering.

Visions of playing and laughing and tumbling and crying all came back to her, for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"Chrissa, are you—?"

She brought herself back to reality at the sound of his concern, and she shook her head.

"_Fine. I am fine_."

The air hung heavily and awkwardly from the silence that ensued between them, broken only by the monotony of the rain against the grass and the shuffling of hooves. Her blank, blue, gently glowing eyes suddenly found the grass at the soles of her plated boots very fascinating; a sensation not unlike how she imagined the tickle of moth wings on the bare skin of her stomach would feel.

She wasn't sure if she liked it or not.

She risked a glance at him, and he appeared to be in the same predicament: his eyes refused to look at her, and she was not at all troubled by it, surprisingly. If she were more truthful to herself, she would have decided that she was actually grateful for it.

At least another hour had passed before the rain had lightened enough to continue their separate journeys.

"_Where are you headed?_" She inquired as he swung a leg over his steed's saddle.

"The city of Shattrath. I was told to head east until the path leads southwards, and continue on that way and through Terokkar."

She said nothing as she placed her helmet back on her head, and mounted her own horse. She had not the faintest idea what to say; what could she say? She steered her horse around, facing him and grabbing hold of his hand, shaking it once firmly.

"_Be careful out there_."

He returned the gesture.

"Yeah... yeah, you too."

He paused as she wheeled her horse back around, ready to set off.

"It... it was nice to see you again, Chrissa."

She turned back, catching his gaze, and nodded once.

"_The feeling is mutual, Darrick_.

As her horse continued down the cobblestone path, still slick with rainwater, she could only think of how the words they hadn't spoken rang the loudest in her head.


	9. Foreign Lands and Unending Snows

Venturing to Draenor had felt like it had happened in another lifetime.

Chrissa drew her flimsy cloak around her chilled frame as she sat below the deck of an icebreaker vessel. It rocked back and forth occasionally, and she could hear the short yells as the passengers tried to keep their balance, most failing and toppling to the smooth wooden floors with dull thuds.

She exhaled slowly, wholly ignoring her visible cloud of breath, and before she could resurface above deck and into the chilling air, a crewman loudly declared their arrival to the Howling Fjord.

Her plated boots clinked against the stairs, and as she rose above deck, she was met with something... she did not quite expect: greens and blues and browns, and none of them were due to death. The tall cliff faces that surrounded the port and its entrance were nearly overflowing with the edges of what appeared to be villages, blood-red rooftops jutting beyond where the clifftops ended.

Dragons unlike those she had ever seen before soared overhead with massive riders on their backs who hurled colossal harpoons down to the town below. Fire fell from the dragon's maws, narrowing missing the rooftops of the settlement as they were deflected by battle-mages and what few cannons there were.

Shouting met her ears as she charged forward, past the abysmally tiny aid station, past the wounded being carried to it, and into the ground battle taking place at the gates.

"Hold them back! _Hold them back!_"

She swung her heavy blade at the invaders, monstrously large tattooed warrior men and their near-feral wolves, only scratching some while severing limbs of others.

A booming war-cry pierced the cold air, and she turned to face another warrior, far bigger than the surrounding men. More war-cries sounded, but from the town's protectors, and as they charged the new enemy, when they came within arm's reach of him, they realized their mistake.

With one swipe of his muscled arm, he knocked more than a few aside, and nearly a dozen feet away. Chrissa reached for the battle horn at her hip, raised it to her mouth, and blew; a deep, thundering sound startled a number of the invaders as well as the protectors, and when she dropped it to her side again, she charged with a war-cry of her own.

"_Back! All of you, back!_" She screeched to those she fought alongside.

They didn't need to be told twice; they fell back several feet, and as she knelt down, her gauntleted hand touching the ground, her echoing voice called a single word, and decay and corruption shot forth through the ground. Everything it touched withered, the warrior men and their wolves being no exceptions; they howled and screamed, twisting unnaturally and writhing in atrocious pain before crumpling to the ground, now nothing more than brittle piles of bone.

A command was shouted, and she ran ahead, calling forth her stallion and nearly flinging herself into the saddle as she charged forward, her heavy blade in hand. More of the warrior men ran forth and her blade sliced through flesh and bone, and they fell into the grass and dirt, face-first and motionless.

She stopped in the middle of the village that was nearly at the doorstep of the town, and with a ferocious roar, one of the dragons landed. Its rider gave an equally fierce cry, and the dragon charged forward, bowling over Chrissa's stallion and taking her along with it. The horse scrambled to its hooves and reared onto its hind legs, neighing angrily, and as it chomped at its bit, it distracted the dragon long enough for her to get beneath it.

She stabbed at its exposed stomach and it shrieked in fury, nearly throwing its rider off its back and onto the ground. It stomped its hind legs as its winged forearms attempted over and over to pin her in one place, but she continued to dodge it, even if by just barely. It thrashed its wings wildly, finally knocking her aside and her weapon out of her hands.

She rolled to her stomach as quickly as she could, throwing herself forwards and grabbing at the hilt of the sword as the dragon lunged for her. Her hold upon it tightened, and she brought it up, driving it straight into the sternum of the dragon. Dark blood poured into her face as she yanked the blade out, and it let loose a pained howl, losing its footing and trying desperately to not fall completely.

Its rider gave an agitated shout, leaping from its back to the ground and drawing a broad ax from its place on his back. He charged towards her, and she sluggishly brought her blade up to block the strike that was aimed for her face. She shoved him off with what remained of her strength, and as he stumbled backwards, nearly losing his footing the same way as his dragon did, she ran forwards with a war-cry that would have chilled the blood of any lesser warrior.

And with a mighty slash, she cleaved his torso not-so-cleanly from his lower half.

She stood for a moment, her breathing rasping and heavy, her reawakened heart pounding beneath her breast. She composed herself after hardly a minute, and returned her blade to its place on her back as she whistled sharply to her horse. It trotted to her, and she swung herself onto the saddle; a rumbling growl made itself known from the back of her throat as the heels of her plated boots dug into its sides, prompting it to run through and past the village, into the intimidating fortress that seemed to hold everything below it in low regard.

The horse's hooves scraped against the rough cobblestoned floors, and it nearly skid as it sharply turned a corner and onto much smoother stone that slanted upwards in a spiral at a steady incline. When they emerged into the open air again, she slowed the horse's pace to a slow walk and withdrew a map from her saddlebag, unrolling it to examine it. She frowned; it was _too_ vague. Alliance settlements were marked, of course, but no signs of any Horde encampments or the ferocious native's villages.

She steered the horse northwards, somewhat bothered by the silence; it was too quiet, and when things were too quiet, unfortunate things tended to happen.

She had been so focused on finding any imminent threats that before she had even realized it, the sun had set and she had been traveling down the same road for a number of hours. She pulled the reins of her horse back, steering it off of the road and beneath a small cluster of snow capped trees. She slid from the saddle, stretching out her legs and arms, groaning from the stiffness in her joints and muscles.

She returned to the road on foot, shielding her eyes from the glare of fading sunlight to search ahead; the beginning of a white, snow-covered plain was all she could see, as well as the peak of a colossal tower circled by dark shapes in the far distance.

She then returned to the shade of the trees, yanking down low hanging branches and throwing them into a small pile. She pulled out a pair of flint stones, striking a spark after far too many tries, and a small fire blossomed within the kindling. She took a seat near it, her horse kneeling down beside her.

"_We'll rest for a while._" She murmured as she stroked the horse's stringy mane, and it snorted its approval. "_Then we'll move on._"

Her gauntleted hand touched the snow-covered earth, and she spoke a single word, a rotting ghoul then clawing its way out of the ground and waiting intently for instructions.

"_Stand watch. Anything that gets too close, kill it._"

Its head nodded as vigorously as it could manage, and her eyes slid shut; she still did not feel completely safe, but it was better than not feeling safe at all.

When she woke, the sun had set completely, and the darkened sky was overflowing with stars. She groaned as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes; it appeared that nothing had gotten too close, let alone come anywhere near the small and very temporary campsite, as the ghoul was shuffling back and forth in frustration.

She clenched her jaw tightly, outstretching a hand and stealing back the magic that animated it, and it collapsed to the ground in pieces. She rose to her feet, taking hold of a larger branch from the nearly extinguished fire, and tossed it onto the ghoul's remains.

The horse shifted in place, growing restless as wolves called to one another in the distance. Her hand slid across its neck, stroking the coarse hair in an attempt to calm it.

"_You are a strong, proud deathcharger of the Ebon Blade. You have no need to fear that which is beneath you._"

She stretched out her muscles and mounted up again, making her way at a very relaxed pace to the snow-blanketed plains that lay before her. Her eyes rested upon the tower, being circled by what she now recognized as dragons, though of which flight, she could not tell. She urged the horse faster, and it galloped across the snow, the occasional stone or skeleton being the only things that slowed its pace.

However, the horse slowed of its own accord, both it and its rider having spotted a dark mass of armor and fur in the snow. She slid from the saddle when she had gotten close enough, cautiously moving forward to examine it.

The mass shifted slightly before rising suddenly with a loud gasp for breath.

"_Gods! What an excellent sleep!_"

Her hand released its grip upon one of the short swords at her hips before balling into a fist, and she crossed her arms to hide it.

"_Malthador Dragonsbane. I never imagined that I would find you out here._"

He looked up at his 'rescuer'.

"_Chrissa! By the Light, it is good to see a familiar face! Were you headed to the Wyrmrest Temple?_"

She nodded once.

"_If that is what that great tower is._"

"_You should go to the Storm Peaks instead. It is much more pleasant than a tower full of dragons watching your every move._"

"_Do they truly? Or do they just for you?_"

He frowned as her lips curled upwards and into a smirk.

"_One day. One day, when you are least expecting it, I will return the favor._"

"_Then I shall always expect it!_"

He laughed heartily before whistling, his own steed galloping towards him and nearly skidding to a halt hardly a foot from him.

"_I am sorry to cut this short, but I must be on my way. Unless you want me to come with you._" He offered.

She shook her head.

"_No, thank you. I shall be fine on my own. Although directions to these 'Storm Peaks' would be most helpful._"

He chortled, pointing far to the north.

"_You'll have to travel through the rest of this wasteland before you reach the forests of Crystalsong. Follow the path coming from Wyrmrest northwards, and you should see it easily enough. Continue along that road, and you'll know the Storm Peaks when you see them._"

She bowed graciously.

"_Thank you, Malthador._"

He waved her off.

"_Not at all, not at all._"

He mounted his horse, steering it in the opposite direction.

"_May glorious battle always find you!_" She shouted after him.

"_It almost always does!_"

The mithril spurs on his boots nudged the sides of the horse, and it shook its head with an annoyed whinny before taking off at a gallop. Her eyes followed him until he became no more than a speck of black amongst the white, most likely minutes away from throttling a magnataur with his bare hands or something equally typical of him.

She steered her horse around again and it trotted towards the path both reaching to and from the temple, very much content to not be in a hurry as she headed northwards. She savored the unbroken silence of the frost-bitten wasteland, knowing that she should always be alert for any kind of threat, but the flat plains hid nothing.

She was so lost in the blurred sea of grays and whites and browns that she hardly noticed that she had entered a vision of autumn; gargantuan trees of light violets and pinks seemingly worked from crystal filled her sight as she gazed eastwards, pieces of their trunks held aloft by the natural magic that saturated Crystalsong.

As she examined the forest, her gaze not resting on anything for too long, it was caught by a vast floating city further to the west. She squinted, attempting to make out any details, but she came to the conclusion that she was just too far away.

She continued on northwards, following the road until it bent to the west. She steered her horse northwards to a beaten pathway, through the trees until the autumn melted into winter. To her right, she saw a barely worn path leading through the snow, and several minutes of riding upon the twisting and turning, gently inclining road, she found herself at the entrance to a great valley. She continued onwards, eventually finding a small, bare-bones base camp, seemingly being held together by nothing but the skin of its teeth.

She dragged her gaze away from it and up further north, past a gargantuan frozen waterfall and settling on the vague outlines of a village, a grand tower standing high above it to the northwest.

Her grip upon the reins of her horse tightened; as bizarre as it may have sounded if she had said it out loud, she felt as if something about that village was… _calling_ to her. It may have been a trick of the wind blowing through the valley, or a strange bit of magic whispering suggestions into her ear; she kicked her horse with an unneeded amount of force, and it shook its head in agitation as it bolted across the dark, frozen landscape and towards her destination.


	10. Refreshing Changes and New Beginnings

When she finally reached the settlement, she dismounted her steed and led it into a small cluster of snowcapped trees before turning back towards the village. The horse shook its head with a whinny, and she turned again, bringing her finger to her lips to quiet it.

"_Fear not. I will return._"

Once more, she turned to the village, and as silently as she could, she crossed the invisible threshold. Her boots plodded noiselessly through the snow and as she hid herself behind a pile of supplies, and she looked back, her eyes resting upon the noticeable prints she had left in the snow. Her gauntleted hand touched the ground and she spoke a single word, frost spreading out from her fingertips and filling in the tracks.

Luck must have been smiling upon her, for directly across from her was a cramped cage with a distinctly goblin-like figure curled in upon himself in the snow. She treaded closer, tapping against the cold metal of the cage with the back of her hand, and he turned towards the source of the noise, rubbing his eyes in irritation at the interruption.

His expression changed from annoyance to joy in a heartbeat.

"Are ya here to rescue us?!"

She nodded.

"_Who holds your keys?_"

"No idea, lady. You're gonna hafta look around; might be on the amazons, might be hidden in their homes. Wherever they are, be careful—"

He was interrupted yet again, this time by a monstrous battle axe that nearly cleaved his cage in two, and both he and the death knight rolled out of the way when it came down. Chrissa felt the flesh of her left arm sting, now exposed to the cold air and skinned cleanly from directly below her shoulder to her elbow. What remained of the metal that concealed it lay twisted and broken in the snow.

The giant azure woman gave a victorious howl, but she was cut short by the wide blade that had temporarily sheathed itself in her gut, and blood poured from her mouth and blackened the snow beneath them. As Chrissa's grip upon the handle of her blade tightened, she lifted a plated boot up and kicked hard against the azure woman's stomach, freeing the blade and allowing the woman to slump to the ground in a heap.

A small ring of keys tumbled to the ground with a jingle, but were ignored as the death knight fished a roll of frost-silk bandages out of one of her packs, hastily wrapping her arm and tying it tightly in an attempt to stymie the bleeding. She grit her teeth and snatched up the keys, forcing one into the lock and twisting until it snapped in half in her hands, the cage door swinging open.

"Thanks a lot! I think the others are deeper in the village; I saw a couple of the boys bein' dragged off!"

She sheathed her weapon, running across the courtyard in search of more goblin prisoners that needed freeing, and she found them as easily as she did with the first. She carved her way through azure amazon after azure amazon, few going down as quickly as the first and even fewer holding keys to prisoner's cells.

Another goblin walked free, and another, and another. As the last left the comfort of his cramped cage for freedom, he fell to his knees.

"Our boss is still in there! I think he's in the mines!" He pleaded.

She clenched her fists into tense spheres, and her jaw tightened as she took a deep, shuddering breath. Must she always be sent to do the dirty work of others?

She nodded firmly once, and the goblin embraced her legs before running off into the darkness. She stared after him, the tightness in her jaw refusing to lessen even after he had disappeared beyond her line of sight.

Searching for any signs of a mine entrance, she quietly sidled into the closest cave, and glanced around. Her not-so long and fruitful search revealed no patrols to speak of, which was far better than she could have ever hoped for. She pressed her back to the wall of the cave, the only noise coming from her being the nigh-silent scrape of metal upon stone, and her slow inhale and exhale.

A noise akin to a hiss met her ears, and her head whipped towards the source: an immense woman, standing nearly twice her own height, gestured to her with a gentle clinking of shackles that bound her wrists to great chains.

"You are certainly not with the Hyldnir… so I must wonder: why are you here?"

She jerked her head back faintly with quiet realization.

"You must be looking for that prisoner. The goblin, yes?"

Chrissa narrowed her eyes at the massive woman, and nodded almost hesitantly.

"I thought as much. We may be able to help each other. You will not be able to save the goblin through brute force; not alive, at any rate. I am called Lok'lira. Among my people, I am known as a Yrkvinn; a practitioner of illusions. And since they have made me their prisoner, they have taken my rune-stones from me." She sighed in clear agitation, rolling her eyes. "Specifically, Syra has them; she occasionally taunts me with them, holding them just out of reach. Should you retrieve them for me, then, and only then, shall we talk some more."

The woman fell silent, leaving Chrissa to find this Syra and retrieve her rune-stones. Her feet shuffled against the stone she walked upon, and her search began. Through a winding passageway she went, the Vrykul slave-men ignoring her and continuing to mine at the walls under the threat of pain. Several feet in front of her, an azure woman walked, her furred skirts shifting awkwardly as she did. Chrissa pulled from her belt a frost-coated short sword, and she outstretched a hand, a dark energy gathering and shooting towards the woman, dragging her towards the knight. She drove the short sword upwards, stopping Syra short as it tore through her flesh and to her heart, and she fell forward, nearly on top of the smaller woman.

She shoved the body aside, and a comparatively small drawstring sack fell loose from Syra's sash, the sound of several smooth stones bumping against each other within the sack as it landed on the ground. She scooped it up in one hand and tossed it into the air once before catching it, weighing it momentarily and very tempted to look inside. Turning back, she decided that it was not really her business before returning to the shackled woman.

"I was not so sure that you would return. You have my rune-stones?"

She held out her hand expectantly, and the knight dropped the drawstring sack into her outstretched palm.

"Our deal is made. You help release me of these chains, and I help you find your… friend."

The rune-magic of the Yrkvinn Vrykul flowed from her hands as water flows from a spring, and it encircled and enveloped the knight in its foreign embrace. She could feel it change her far more deep than just her flesh; although how, she could not quite say.

She felt gargantuan as the illusion was completed, and she briefly examined herself: azure skin, frost-coated leather and chain, and furs of unnamable beasts she was outfitted in.

"The Hyldnir who is in charge is known as Mildred the Cruel ‒ and with good reason." She continued. "She should be at the top of the stairs. Tell her that you have been sent to lend a hand with the mines, and do whatever she requires of you until she trusts you with the keys to my shackles."

"_Of course._"

She turned from the woman, her eyes resting on the set of stairs several feet in front of her, and as she made her way to them, the leather of her illusional boots scuffing against the solid stone of the floors, she felt as if something was wrong. Not completely so; just an itch at the back of her mind that told her that not everything was as it seemed to be.

She climbed the stairs and glanced to her left, a wide balcony overlooking the area below, and another set of stairs beyond it.

"I was expecting a replacement for one of my overseers."

The voice that came from the Hyldnir that was standing upon the balcony was colder than she appeared, even with her cobalt skin and frost-tipped furs, and the grin that followed as she approached her was nothing short of malicious.

"It's about time you showed up. Let's put you to work, shall we?"

The disguised woman nodded firmly, crossing her arms over her chest and shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"Very good. We'll start you with something simple. The male Vrykul that work the mines for us do so against their will, and mostly out of fear. Once in a while, though, one loses their motivation to work, so I wish you to search for any uncooperative males and put them back in their place."

She offered a sturdy, polished metal rod adorned with cobalt.

"Use this. You will want to inflict pain, not death." She paused. "…most of the time."

And again, she nodded, but did not speak as she grasped the metal rod firmly. She tapped it a few times upon her outstretched palm before dropping her hands to her sides, beginning her search for any miners that could be considered "uncooperative".

It did not take long; she found one of the men sitting for a short pause down one of the tunnels. Even with the frigid air that hung heavily, sweat was dripping from his brow faster than he could mop it from his skin. He appeared old; his hair was white, his hairline was receding, and his white beard was so long that he could have tucked it into his belt.

"_I am sorry._" She murmured as she raised the metal rod.

She struck his back hard, but definitely not as hard as she could have. He lurched forwards, a loud groan of pain passing his gritted teeth, and he staggered to his feet, sending a glare at her that had it been even a blunt butter knife, it would have rent the hide of a yeti.

She could not find words for her actions, and she knew that it would weigh heavily upon her conscience long after she had gone.

She continued her search for the "uncooperative", putting away the rod and using words instead of violence to solve this specific problem. She made sure not another was watching, and pulled one after another to his feet, brushing him off and telling him firmly to get back to work lest he feel the bite of the metal rod upon his back.

It appeared to work, at least for a while; some were grateful they weren't being beaten, while others outright attacked her for it. She did not like leaving behind the lifeless bodies of the men she was only trying to help, but those men did not know her thoughts. They saw her, saw the metal rod at her hip and the sword on her back, and refused to listen to her words.

When she returned to Mildred, she had to wonder how far she would have to fall before she would be able to pick herself up again.

"Not bad, not at all bad. I've another task for you, if you're feeling particularly brave."

She sucked in a silent breath, the muscles of her jaw tightening, but she made no objections.

"For every action, there is an opposite reaction. In the case of us applying pressure on the males, this has meant rumors of an uprising among them."

She paused, searching for any sign of surprise on the other woman's features. When she found none, she continued.

"The bearded pig behind this… _rabble-rousing_ is called Garhal. Put an end to him, and make sure that the other males see his passing. They must learn that insubordination will never be tolerated."

She heard a shout behind her, followed by many deep-voiced cheers and the clanking of metal against stone. She turned entirely, following the shouts and the cheers, and coming upon a scene: one man, standing in the middle of many, shouting and raising his fist in apparent triumph.

"They enslaved us! We will break free of their chains, and enslave them! Return the pain that was wrought tenfold!"

Cries of agreement followed, and she braced herself, pushing through the crowd of men and to the center of the ring. Several stumbled aside, bumping into others with protests and threats, and she emerged through the hole she had made, her hands clenched into tight fists.

"See now, brothers! This lone she-wolf has come to stop us! She wishes us to continue our enslavement like well-trained dogs, to work until we can no longer! She will—"

She silenced him with a blade through his gut, and she twisted it before letting him collapse to the floor. The silence that overtook the group was deafening as she glanced around, her lips twisting into a snarl.

"_Back to work!_"

The remaining men stood motionless in terror.

"_I said, __**BACK TO WORK!**_" She screeched.

She felt her cheeks burning beneath her horned helm as the men scrambled to retrieve their pickaxes, refusing to meet her burning gaze.

She could almost feel the bile rising in her throat. The rush of dominance had ended, leaving her only with the feeling of complete and utter shame. She forced it back down, feeling more sick than ever, and she returned to Mildred.

The Hyldnir woman applauded her slowly.

"If I had any reservations regarding your commitment when you first arrived, I no longer have any. With only a little more effort, you could become a permanent member of this operation." She paused faintly. "You are without mercy. You will do very well around here, very well indeed."

Her praise felt so hollow.

"I have another task to ask of you."

Her head nearly dropped to her chest in defeat, but she did not object.

"There is a female Vrykul prisoner that has become more of a liability than I had previously anticipated. She had the _gall_ to claim the right to take part in the Hyldsmeet, our sacred competition of strength and fighting prowess."

She handed a key to the woman opposite her.

"Here is the key to her shackles, and make it as painless as possible. She is a female after all, even if not one of our own."

She did not speak, only nodding once, and turning to head back down the stairs. Her strides quickened and the wood creaked beneath her boots, and her steps carried her back to Lok'lira, who crossed her arms over her chest as well as she could.

"It's about time."

She held the key up, and the shackled woman held back a shout of joy.

"I knew you would return! Release me of these shackles, and I will help you find the goblin."

She slid the key into the locks in turn, and they released with a click, falling to the ground with a muted clang. She rubbed at her wrists, now bruised and dark blue.

"There is an exit at the eastern end of the mine that leads to Brunnhildar Village. Follow it, and I will meet you there."

The magic again flowed from her hands, but enveloped her this time, her skin and hair changing from a warm light brown to the cold azure of the Hyldnir.

"We must not be seen together so none suspect you of aiding me." Her voice dropped to a low whisper. "Do not worry. We shall find your friend soon."

She left the other woman behind, and Chrissa waited several moments before following her out at a slow pace. She made her way up the stairs and back by Mildred, who gave her a nod of approval. She quickened her pace faintly, going through the wide tunnel and coming back out into the open on the other side. She took a few steps forward, glancing around and trying not to draw much attention to herself when to her right, Lok'lira gestured to her.

"You're here – good. I… think I know where the goblin is."

She stared and nodded past Chrissa's shoulder.

"If I were you, I would step in before that Hyldnir splits him in half."

She was speaking to the air by the time she had reached the last word.

"_Hail, sister. What are you called?_"

"Hail. I am called Agnetta Tyrsdottar."

She gestured to the goblin.

"_What business have you with one so much smaller than you?_" She questioned.

"This puny green pup was of no use in the mines. No matter; he will make a suitable warm-up for the battles of the Hyldsmeet."

"_Skip the warm-up. Or are you too afraid to face someone your own size?_"

Agnetta was seething.

"I fear nothing!"

Agnetta raised her axe high into the air, but did not get far. Chrissa drew her blade and slashed, striking her across her throat, and she fell to her knees and she clutched at the wound, dark blood dripping down her front. Her eyes rolled back, and she teetered precariously before falling to one side with a dull thud.

The goblin gingerly embraced her leather boot.

"Thank you! I think it's time to get away from these crazy blue women!"

And with that, he ran off. Her gaze followed him a short distance, her eyebrow raised slightly, and she shrugged before returning to Lok'lira.

"Well done. It looks like our deal has been satisfied on both our ends. And whether you've noticed by now or not, by defeating a Hyldnir in hand-to-hand combat, you've entered into the Hyldsmeet. The Hyldsmeet was the reason why I was imprisoned, for I sought to partake in the competition, but was far too old and frail to be a match for those competing.

"If you're willing to listen, I've a proposal for you."

The death knight lifted her hand to her chin, stroking it gently in thought.

"_Very well, then. Tell me of this proposal._"

Lok'lira nodded.

"Thorim is not like these _harpies_." She spat. "He is of near god-like stature, and he has served the titans as a guardian of Ulduar, and in the Terrace of the Makers." She paused. "…that is, until his wife Sif was so cowardly slain by his brother."

"_What happened then?_"

"Thorim…" She paused. "He lashed out against his most beloved allies: the frost giants. That is one reason why this land is torn apart by the war between the Hyldnir and the Sons of Hodir… and why Thorim has exiled himself to the Temple of Storms."

"_So you want me to take part in this competition to end the war between them?_"

Lok'lira's face contorted slightly.

"What do I care if they kill each other? No, no… what I want is for Thorim to break from his stupor and rally all of his allies to retake Ulduar. The world will be torn apart if he fails to do this!

"So… what say you?"

Chrissa's features hardened as she considered the proposal.

"_I will take part in this competition._" She answered.

Lok'lira nodded once more.

"Then it's decided. You will compete in the Hyldsmeet, and with my help, you will restore the great Thorim to his rightful place. So then, let's get you started." She continued without even a pause, sounding as if she had rehearsed beforehand. "The good news is that by defeating Agnetta, you have earned a spot in the next round. The bad news is that all of your opponents will also have defeated someone in the first round."

The crone sized up the woman opposite her.

"Do not expect pushovers."

She said nothing as she turned towards fellow competitors, and approached one, grasping at the hilt of her blade and drawing it from its place upon her back. The one approached narrowed her eyes at the one coming towards her, and she hoisted her shield up.

"You challenge me, sister?" She asked, sounding almost bored.

"_I do._"

"Very well. Defend yourself!"

Blade clashed against both shield and axe within seconds, but the fight was already won the moment the other woman's shield dropped. Chrissa's blade smashed the shield into splinters and she ran the Vrykul through, the woman slumping against her as she yanked her weapon from the lifeless body. The Hyldnir who stood beside her placed her hands upon her hips, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"Do you challenge me, as well?"

"_I do._"

She used her shield to push Chrissa away, scoring a hit to her left thigh and close to her hip. She gave a victorious shout, but it was cut off as the other woman brought her blade up, only for it to be blocked by the sturdy shield.

"I will not go down as easily as she did!"

She felt as if she spoke too soon when her opponent's blade came slicing partway through her leg. She let loose a pained howl, not noticing that her opponent had snatched up her own axe, raised it above her head, and was bringing it down upon her neck. Her head and helm rolled a few feet away, leaving a trail of dark blood behind it.

Another Hyldnir went down, and another, and another. By the sixth, her breathing was slow and ragged, and she was grateful when Lok'lira called her back to her.

"You have done it: you have bested some of the fiercest fighter the Hyldnir race has to offer. Because of your success in the first rounds, you are able to advance further. But to advance further, you are going to need a war-bear of your own."

"_A… a war-bear?_"

Lok'lira raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

"Unfortunately for you, the Hyldnir don't give them out to just anyone. You will have to emerge victorious from true battle. Not just gladiatorial combat." She continued. "Since the Hyldnir of Brunnhildar are involved in a stupid quarrel with the Sons of Hodir, speak to Brijana just off of the eastern path leaving the village and see how you can help. You might be able to prove yourself to them in the process."

"_Of course._" She answered rather lamely.

She followed the path and headed east out of the village, and down a snow-covered ramp. She spotted a Hyldnir standing tall and proud next to a massive snow-white bear.

"_You are Brijana?_"

The woman turned towards her, and nodded once.

"I am. You are here to help with our giant problem?"

She nodded in response.

"_I am. I am also here for a war-bear._"

"Are you?" Her eyes narrowed, her attitude seeming to change. "Do you think that we will give you your own war-bear, just like that? You will have to prove yourself worthy of it before you get anything from us. Do not think too highly of yourself, just because you bested some challengers in the Hyldsmeet."

She appeared to stand even taller and prouder.

"Your test awaits, woman. Do you have the heart of a warrior queen, or the heart of a sniveling seamstress?" She asked, but continued before she could receive an answer. "One taste of war, and we will know the answer."

She took a step closer, her grip upon her spear tightening, and she stared down at Chrissa.

"You might lie to your mother, your sisters, even yourself." Her voice dropped to low and threatening pitch. "…but the battlefield always exposes one's true nature. Make your preparations."

She shoved a clearly magical longbow and a quiver full of arrows into her hands.

"Mount Icefang and ride into the battle. From her back, you must rain death upon our enemy."

She could do naught but nod dumbly, and climb upon the bear's back. The bear growled lowly and charged forwards, nearly knocking her from its back and into the snow. As the bear approached the battlefield, Chrissa could see colossal forms, and it was not until she drew closer did she see what she was fighting.

A small army of frost giants, far bigger than she could have ever imagined, each with three or more frostworgs snapping at their heels. A dozen or more of her "sisters" were on the battlefield as well, also riding upon the backs of bears. She gripped tightly to Icefang's sides with her legs, readied the bow, notching an arrow and taking aim at the closest giant.

She loosed the arrow, and it flew towards its target. When it struck, however, it did not just bury itself into the leather of the giant's boot; it exploded, setting the giant's leg alight with bright flames. He bellowed furiously as he attempted to smother the flames with his massive hands.

Arrow after arrow she loosed until she was completely out, until the battlefield she was leaving behind was blazing. She spurred Icefang faster again, returning to Brijana.

"Perhaps you do have the heart of a warrior." She mused, sounding almost impressed as Chrissa dismounted the bear. "Only time will tell for sure."

She handed the bow and empty back to her.

"I have another task to ask of you."

"_What is it?_"

"To be slain honorably in the field of battle brings glory to us all. To be frozen in a block of ice and endlessly taunted does not." She began. "You are to fly to the frost giant city of Dun Niffelem, just east of the Valley of Ancient Winters, and liberate a captive proto-drake. With her, you will be able to free our sisters from their frozen bonds and carry them safely home." She paused faintly. "Beware the giants' clubs, lest you find yourself numbered among the captives."

Brijana pointed up the hill behind her.

"Should you need to, follow the path to the stables, and you may borrow a proto-drake. Do not worry if you leave her behind; she knows the way home."

"_Thank you. I shall._"

Chrissa jogged up the hill and into the village, climbed into the saddle of a proto-drake, and spurred it into the air, steering it in the direction of Dun Niffelem. It soared above the remains of the battle fought only minutes before, the scattered frost giants and frostworgs attempting to retreat back to their city for the night to regroup.

Upon approaching the city, the drake weaved between the gargantuan spires of ice to its captive sisters, and its powerful jaws broke through the chains. She leapt from its back to the freed drake, her boots slipping on its scales. She clung to its back as well as she could before spurring it onwards, and it circled around in the air, descending until it was within distance of a large block of ice containing a Brunnhildar prisoner.

It smashed its head against the ice and it shattered, the prisoner shaking her head a few times before climbing up behind Chrissa. The drake smashed through another block of ice, and another, the two more prisoners each holding onto one of the drake's taloned feet as it escaped the frozen clubs of the frost giants.

She returned twice more, breaking the ice that held her "sisters" captive and carrying them back to the village, each embracing her tightly in turn before she left to find Brijana again.

And when she did, Brijana embraced her tightly.

"Your efforts have been successful! You have brought glory to us!"

She grasped her shoulders tightly, a bright smile lighting her features.

"You have succeeded where many have failed, but whether it be by strength and courage or mere dumb luck remains to be seen. Return to the village and seek Astrid Bjornrittar. Tell her of your accomplishments, but be warned. She is not easily impressed."

She could feel the muscles of her jaw tighten and her teeth grinding._ Yet another "I am never impressed by anything that you do"._ She thought. _ My patience with these types is wearing thin indeed. _She trudged up the hill again and back into the village, both getting used to the sight as well as getting sick of it. It was becoming too familiar, and it was not something she enjoyed.

She approached another Hyldsmeet competitor.

"_Hail, sister. Do you know where Astrid Bjornrittar might be found?_"

"Hail, sister." She pointed to the hut to the furthest left on the opposite side of the village. "Astrid can usually be found in that hut."

She bowed politely.

"_Thank you._"

She jogged to the hut, and found a woman within, a hood covering most of her eyes, skulls on her belt, and a roughly hewn wooden staff in her hand. She turned towards the newcomer, and before Chrissa could even open her mouth to speak, she cut her off.

"I know why you are here, so do not waste your breath with pointless boasting. You think that doing a few chores makes you a heroine?" She looked the other woman up and down, as if sizing her up. "You shall learn."

"_I am not here for boasting. I am here to ride._"

"So, you want to ride? Well, if you have made it this far, someone must think that you've a chance at the Hyldsmeet. But first things first: we will have to make you a harness. In the cliffs to the south, you'll find scattered groups of yeti; their hides are tough and just the right thickness for riding harnesses. Bring some back to me, and we shall get you started on the path of the bear-rider."

Nearly an hour, a mountain of slain yeti, and more ruined hides than she could count later, she returned to Astrid.

"Have you retrieved the hides?"

She reached into her pack, and pulled out the hides, carefully handing them to her.

"These will do nicely. I will have the harness ready for you soon. In the meantime, please sit. I must tell you something that pertains to these." She gestured to the hides.

She led the other woman into her home and nodded towards the long bench. Chrissa took a seat while Astrid retrieved the things she would need, and she took a seat beside her.

"For as long as I can remember, we have obtained our best bears from the Hibernal Cave. Those times, I fear, may be finally gone; the cave has been overrun by ravenous jormungar, and the wild bears are all but extinct." She sighed almost sadly as she stitched the hides together. "…however, if you were to find a surviving matriarch, I would guarantee that she would fight better than any of these bears born in captivity."

She rose from her seat, beckoning Chrissa to as well, and handed to her the completed harness.

"Take this, and rescue a surviving matriarch. I wish you luck in finding one."

She took hold of the massive harness, and headed back down the hill and away from the village. She squinted, searching for a sign of the Hibernal Cave, and an opening framed by cerulean stones in the distance told her that she was not far off. She trudged through the snows towards it, and upon reaching it, crept inside. Creatures she assumed to be the jormungar slithered about, their huge fangs dripping saliva as they hissed at any icemaw bear that came too close.

Her hands reached for her blade, and she ran forwards, cleaving the jormungar in two with a strong strike. It toppled to the ground of the cave, black blood soaking the snow and slowly spreading in a dark pool beneath it. Any jormungar that was unfortunate enough to be in her line of sight was immediately hewn; not just for her, but for the Hyldnir, and for the icemaw.

She at last came into a large open area, and several feet from her was perhaps the largest bear she had ever seen. As she approached it, she could see one of the great bear's eyes open, and look in her direction. She sheathed her blade upon her back, and the beast let loose a great, heaving sigh, as if to surrender.

"_Do not worry. I will save you._"

She fitted the harness upon the great matriarch, and she rose to her great paws. She mounted her back, and her claws dug into the snow before she rushed forwards from the cave, through the snows, up the winding hill-path, and finally to Astrid.

Astrid herself emerged from her hut, her eyebrows knit and her eyes staring holes into what had approached.

"I am impressed. I never thought that I would see an icemaw matriarch again, and especially not one of this size."

She walked a circle around the matriarch and the mounted knight, examining every aspect. When she had come back around, she was smiling.

"You have been very fortunate, indeed. This is a matriarch the likes of which has not been seen in years. But a good bear will not do you much good if you haven't the skill to ride it." She grinned. "I'll have you practice on Kirgaraak. He is the largest yeti we have ever managed to capture, so be cautious. Do not be afraid to walk away should he give you a beating; there is a reason why we keep him chained."

The matriarch trotted along beside her as she made her way across the village, and as soon as the great yeti's eyes rested upon the pair, he strained against his chains with a vicious snarl. Chrissa mounted the matriarch, and braced herself.

The bear charged, smashing into the yeti and knocking him backwards several feet. Her great claws slashed at his hide, and he howled as they struck true. His arm thudded against the matriarch, slowing her momentarily, but her powerful jaws closed like a toothed trap into his arm. He howled again, this time in fury, but the continued assault from the matriarch proved to be too much.

He drew backwards, away from the sharp claws, and the matriarch bellowed in victory. Chrissa dismounted the bear to let her take at least a short rest as she returned to Astrid.

"Not bad, not bad at all. I was hoping that Kirgaraak would snap your neck so that I could keep your bear."

Chrissa felt as if her eyebrows had risen into her hairline, but the other woman laughed.

"I jest. Well… half so. That is a very nice bear you have."

She crossed her arms, shifting her weight to one foot as she leaned backwards slightly.

"Besting a tethered opponent is one thing. Fighting other bear riders on equal footing is entirely another. Head into the Pit of the Fang, and use what you've learned to defeat your opponents. Glory awaits, should you succeed."

Astrid reached out and gripped Chrissa's hand tightly.

"Good luck, sister."

She slowly approached the Pit of the Fang in the center of the village, her matriarch beside her. She stood still in quiet contemplation, staring into the pit and at the other bear-riders. Taking a deep breath, her eyes sliding shut as she released it, she slowly mounted her matriarch and headed into the pit.

A low growl and a shout was all she heard.

She spurred her bear to the source, and the collision of fur and muscle was almost too loud to her ears. They bit and clawed and snarled, blood blossoming from new wounds made with teeth and claw until the other collapsed in exhaustion, her rider jumping to the ground to crudely tend to the bears wounds.

Chrissa steered her bear around at the sound of another low growl, but she was not quick enough. Again, the matriarch collided with the challenger, but was not as lucky. The challenger's teeth sank deeply into her shoulder, and she snarled and beat them away with a giant paw.

Challenger after challenger charged, but in the end, they had all been fended off, some by just barely. She dismounted her bear; the matriarch was limping clearly, bright red spattered upon the stark white of her fur.

"You… you really did it! You made it out, and with your health, no less!" Astrid's face fell suddenly. "I wish that I could say the same for your bear… It is going to take a long while for her to recover. Fortunately, you will not need her for a while."

She paused, as if searching for the proper words to say.

"This is it, then. I shall take care of your bear now; you will not be needing her for what is next. Say goodbye to your friends and your allies, and leave your affairs in order. For you will return victorious… or you will not return at all."

A short jaunt across the village, and she was before Lok'lira again.

"You have truly made it this far. Never would I have ever thought that you would progress so quickly among the Hyldnir." She took a deep breath and released it before continuing. "You have been an excellent ally, but now comes your true test. You will need skill, courage, and a little luck."

Lok'lira leaned forward, her hands coming up and attaching a thin strand of hair to one of Chrissa's own.

"You cannot fail now. Speak to Gretta the Arbiter, near the stables where we keep the drakes. She will see you on your way."

She turned in the direction Lok'lira nodded in, turned back towards her, and offered her hand. Lok'lira glanced down at it and then at the other woman's face before taking hold of it, and shaking it once firmly.

"_It has been an honor._"

Lok'lira could find no words to say, even as Chrissa turned and left.

"Are you ready to ride? There is no coming back."

She nodded once to the Arbiter.

"You've risen among our sisters as one of the finest and fiercest combatants. You've passed all of the tests of the Hyldsmeet. All but one."

She paused, her eyes attempting to read any wordless communication the other woman may have unintentionally been speaking.

"The Drakkensryd – the true test of a Hyldnir's worth and warrior spirit." She explained further. "Nothing but you, your drake, a chained harpoon…"

As Chrissa mounted the nearby proto-drake, Gretta tossed a massive harpoon with a length of chain wrapped around it to her.

"…and a score of your sisters competing to be the victor."

Her features hardened into an expressionless mask.

"Show no quarter. None will be expected."

She struck the hindquarters of the drake, and it lifted into the air, its wings beating against the wind as it soared towards a tall peak. She could see the other competitors from where she was, also on drake-back and each armed with a harpoon more vicious that the last's.

She gripped the reins of the proto-drake in one hand, the chained harpoon in the other, and she spurred the drake higher and faster into the sky. Further upwards was another competitor, one of her "sisters", and she rose swiftly to meet her. She wasted no time, grasping the thick chain tightly as she hurled the harpoon and impaled the Hyldnir through her back. She choked on the dark blood that rose in her throat, and she slowly slid from the harness of the drake.

She yanked the harpoon free of the corpse and steered the proto-drake towards the newly empty harness. She threw herself to it, abandoning the old drake for the new, and it let loose a shriek as it rose higher.

Another competitor appeared, far more prepared than the first, and she hastily threw her own harpoon at Chrissa, who brought her weapon up and sent the encroaching messy, excruciating death far off course. She grabbed hold of the competitor's chain and pulled hard, throwing her opponent off balance and nearly plunging to the snow-covered rocks below. She hurled her own harpoon again, but her opponent of the moment caught it, and yanked her from her place on the drake.

They wrestled, both attempting to push the other from the harness. Chrissa grit her teeth tightly and spoke a single word, decay spreading from her hand to the Hyldnir, who roared loudly as her gauntlet melted from her hand. She gripped the Hyldnir's arm tightly and threw her completely askew, finally sending her to the ground far below them.

Her grip upon her harpoon tightening again, she soared even higher still. Competitor after competitor fell to her strength, and when she reached the top of the mountain, she saw a great, open-aired temple, a gargantuan throne in the center, and what appeared to be an equally gargantuan statue of a man seated upon it.

She hurled the harpoon at one of the temple ornaments, and it stuck planted firmly in the stone. She stood upon the back of the drake, and gripping the chain tightly, she swung from the drake to the temple, landing heavily upon her knees.

She slowly rose to her feet. The statue in the center of the temple seemed to glare down at her.

She approached it almost hesitantly.

"_Begone!_"

The deep, booming voice that came from the colossal man caught her off guard, and when his gaze fell upon her, his entirety seemed to freeze as if time itself had stopped.

"Sif… is that you?"

She shook her head as the illusion cast upon her faded.

"_I am sorry, but I am not who you mistake me for._"

He shifted in his great seat.

"Then, what is your name, little one?"

She blinked. It had been several years since someone had referred to her as 'little one', but she supposed that next to him, she was quite little.

"_Chrissa Renn._"

The titanic watcher tilted his head, almost in thought, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Chrissa Renn?" He repeated, and shook his large head. "No, no. That is no good at all."

He then stood, stretching to his full, colossal height.

"Chrissa is a soft name, for a soft human. Chrissa is a name appropriate for a young girl who battles with swords made of brushwood, a young girl who wishes to be a hero from stories. It is not befitting of a victor of the Drakkensryd."

He paused only slightly.

"Name yourself anew. You are not a young girl anymore."

Her mind raced; she was supposed to name herself? She thought back to every word the Hyldnir might have ever said, and a renaming of oneself was never mentioned for the victor of the Hyldsmeet.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, and spoke a single word:

"_Ragnhilde_."

"Ragnhilde." The titanic watcher repeated, taking his seat again and stroking his beard in thought. "'Wise in battle', indeed."

She stood still, unsure of what else to say, and the titanic watcher's eyes rested on her tiny form.

"Very well, then. Ragnhilde." He stated in his booming voice. "Go now. Go, and leave your mark upon the world."

She stood silent, cocking her head to one side with a raised eyebrow. Surely he didn't expect her to leave now, did he? She soon lowered herself, sitting upon the cool, smooth stone surface, a small smile playing on her mouth as she wrapped her fur-lined cloak around herself.

"_No, thank you. I think that I shall rest first, at least for a short while. I have had quite a day, and I am exhausted._"


End file.
